My Special Angel (12 page)

“Nonsense. Verna’s beside herself with glee. She’s finally one up on the snooty Violet DuBois. Imagine having this entire affair catered by Gypsies and not having their music and fortune-telling.”

“She already paid my mom and my aunts a small fortune for the food. There really wasn’t any need to hire two of my cousins to help park cars, my brother-in-law to play the violin, or Yelena to dance. And what about the fortune-telling?”

“What about it?” He hugged her closer. “How do you expect Verna to outdo the haughty Ms. Violet with just plain food and no entertainment?”

“What did Violet do last year? Hire the Philharmonic Orchestra?”

“Something much worse.” He nuzzled her neck with his mouth. “She hired the Highland Marching Band, who practically deafened the entire club with their bagpipes blaring all afternoon. Poor Verna came home with a headache that lasted two days.”

Nadia chuckled. “Well, I can guarantee that Gustavo’s violin playing won’t cause any headaches, but I have to warn you, Owen, some people don’t take too kindly to having their fortune told.”

“Relax.” He quickly kissed the pout forming on her lower lip. “Your mom and Verna have it all figured out. The fortune-tellers are not part of the package. If anyone wants to have his fortune told, they are available to him, but he must pay the teller’s fee. That way no one can blame Verna for a bad prediction.”

“What if it’s a good prediction?” Ever since their near-lovemaking in the barn two weeks ago, Owen had practically lived at the ranch. He was friendly toward her family and always there to lend a hand. He had helped Stevo and Rupa dig postholes for the south pasture, and he even got her father and Uncle Yurik jobs with his construction company. The Kandrataviches’ luck was starting to change for the better, and all because of Owen. Her music hadn’t returned yet, but it would. She had faith.

“Any good prediction I’m sure Verna will take full credit for.” He opened the doors and gently pushed Nadia out onto the patio. “After all, this is her party.” He glanced at the three tents set up by the tennis courts. “I’ve never had my fortune read.” He contemplated the tents for another minute. “Which do you recommend—palm reading, tea leaves, or the tarot cards?”

Nadia nervously glanced around for something to do. “I’m sure you’re going to be too busy for any of that nonsense.” She didn’t need any of her well-meaning relations playing matchmaker. People were very susceptible to what a dark-eyed Gypsy could read in the future. If she said to beware because there could be a car accident in the near future, the person would be so nervous every time he drove that he would probably cause the accident. If someone hinted that Owen would fall in love with a dark-eyed Gypsy, marry, and have many fine children, Owen could fall prey to the suggestion. She didn’t need any more complications in her life right now. She had no idea where her relationship with Owen was going, but a trip down some rose-petal-strewn aisle was out of the question. It didn’t matter that his kisses turned her knees to water or that every night it was becoming harder and harder not to invite him to stay. Her first concern had to be family. They were the ones who needed her. It didn’t matter what she needed. Right now she had to concentrate on getting through this day without some major catastrophe. Then there was her music and album to worry about. Owen would just have to take a number and wait his turn.

“Why don’t you want me to get my fortune told?”

“Oh, look, there’s Yelena.” Nadia nodded toward her sister, who was struggling with a card table and two folding chairs. “I have to go help her. I’ll see you around, Owen.” Not waiting for a response, she dashed off to help her sister.

Owen frowned as he stared after her. She looked enchantingly wild and sexy dressed in her native clothes. The colorful skirt swirled around her ankles; the white peasant blouse was pulled off her shoulders, giving him an enticing view of dusky smooth skin that seemed to beg for his kisses. He had never seen Nadia wear so much gold jewelry. Rings flashed on every one of her fingers, large hoop earrings dangled from her ears, and what appeared to be a fortune’s worth of gold coins hung around her neck on fine gold chains. She even had a delicate bracelet wrapped around her ankle. When she had showed up with the rest of her family, it had taken every ounce of willpower not to haul her upstairs to his room and make sweet, passionate love to her all day. He noticed the way she worried her lower lip when he mentioned getting his fortune told. A sure sign she was upset about something. Why should she be upset? It was his fortune he wanted read, not hers.

“Excuse me, sir.” Sebastian approached the slate patio with his usual bland composure. “Your presence is required in the kitchen for a moment.”

Owen glanced away from Nadia and her sister. “Is there a problem, Sebastian?”

“Milly is threatening to quit, sir.”

“Why would she do that?” Milly had been their cook for over thirty years and had never once voiced any concerns about leaving.

“It seems she’s a trifle upset with Ms. Kandratavich’s family and the way they cook.”

“What’s wrong with the way they cook?” He started for the house with Sebastian in tow.

“Two members of Ms. Kandratavich’s family and your aunt are in the side garden picking some more ingredients for their salad.”

“Surely Milly’s not upset because they are helping themselves to some of her vegetables?”

“Sir, they are not in the vegetable garden.” He rolled his eyes and grimaced. “They are in the flower garden.”

* * *

“Oh, Ida! You simply must have your palm read.” Maybelle Lanston held out her liver-spotted hand. “See that line right there?” She pointed to her palm. “The darling little Gypsy told me there will be five great loves in my life.”

Owen edged himself closer to the elderly pair and examined his own palm. Could a person really see how many loves you were going to have simply by looking at your palm? Maybe he should go pay a visit to Nadia’s sister, Yelena, the resident palmist.

“Well, that just goes and proves how you wasted your five dollars,” scolded Ida. “You’ve only been married four times, and as far as I know, you married all your great loves. Lord knows you married every man who even looked at you.” Ida scooped a serving spoonful of what appeared to be some type of potato salad onto her plate. She sniffed it delicately, took a small taste, and proceeded to load on a couple more spoonfuls.

Maybelle gave a small huff. “I mentioned the fact that I had only had four husbands, and do you know what she said?” Ida glanced heavenward and went on to the next dish. “She said that as long as I was alive, there was always hope.”

Owen started to choke. He hastily reached for a glass of water.

“You’re eighty-one years old; who in their right mind would want you?” said Ida.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Of what?”

“You’re jealous because you’ve only had two husbands, and Neville Walker was giving me the eye last Sunday in church.” Maybelle brushed by Ida and headed for a table where two other ladies already sat.

Owen lost control of his laughter as Ida muttered, “You’re as blind as an old bat, Maybelle. Neville Walker has been giving me the eye every Sunday since Reverend Howland gave that sermon about the sins of the flesh.” She finished loading her plate and stomped after Maybelle.

Owen shook his head in amazement and glanced around the yard. Everyone who’d said they would come had, and by the looks of things they all must have brought a friend. Aunt Verna’s party was a huge success. It was going to take a miracle for Violet to outdo this party next year. He had glimpsed Nadia only twice since the guests started to arrive, and both times she had been hurrying between the kitchen and the buffet table. He missed her. With a devilish gleam in his eye he started for the side entrance that led to the kitchen. Maybe it was time for him to check on the hired help.

He entered the kitchen and halted. Nadia was standing by the stove waving a wooden spoon and shouting something in a foreign language to one of her aunts. Her mother and another aunt waved their spoons and shouted back. He had no idea what all the fighting was about, but he was thankful that Milly’s cutlery set was at the other end of the room. He stepped closer to Nadia. “Hi, need any help?”

Nadia lowered her spoon and glared at the other women.

“How about a referee?” joked Owen.

Nadia’s mother started to say something in a foreign language to Owen.

“English, Olenka. I don’t understand Russian.” Owen offered a hesitant smile.

“I was speaking in Polish, forgive me.” She glared back at her daughter and folded her arms across her ample chest. “Owen will be our judge.”

Owen swallowed hard. “Judge of what?” He didn’t like the sound of this.

Nadia nodded her head and handed Owen the wooden spoon. She lifted the lid from the enormous pot simmering on the stove. “Tell us if you think it needs more salt.”

“Salt?” He glanced at the pot in confusion. “All this is about salt?”

“Just taste it,” snapped Nadia.

Owen glanced at the pot and then back at Nadia.

“Does it need more salt?” He had no idea where she stood on the issue, but he knew enough not to criticize the cooking of the woman he loved. And love her he did. He had been fooling himself with the notion that he was falling in love with Nadia. He had already fallen, and hard.

“Nyet, nyet,” shouted Olenka. “Nadia, don’t you dare tell him what you think. We need him to judge with his taste, not with his sertze.”

Nadia glared at her mother and then turned to Owen. “Just taste it, please.”

Owen sampled the stew. He glanced at all three women and tasted it again. He didn’t pick up on any signals from Nadia, so he lowered the spoon and beamed. “It’s delicious.”

“But does it need more salt?” asked Olenka.

He handed Nadia the spoon. “No, I think it’s perfect the way it is.” He held his breath and waited.

Nadia looked at her mother and said something that suspiciously sounded like “I told you so” and threw herself into Owen’s arms. She rained sweet little kisses down his jaw.

He held her tight and grinned. This was the first time Nadia had shown any type of affection toward him in front of her family. He had been waiting for this sign for the past two weeks, ever since the day they nearly made love to each other in the barn. Nadia was finally starting to open up to him. Maybe now he could discover the secrets in her eyes. He chuckled softly and pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “What would you have done if I said it needed more salt?”

She continued to smile as she stepped out of his arms and started to fill an empty tureen her sister Sonia had just brought in. “Added more salt.”

Owen glanced at Sonia and frowned. The woman didn’t belong on her feet; in fact, if he had to guess, he would say she belonged in some delivery room with a doctor standing over yelling, “Push, push.” Sonia was pregnant, very pregnant. Owen had no idea that a woman could be that pregnant and not burst. When Sonia reached for the full tureen, Owen stepped in and took the heavy dish. “I’ll take that for you.” He smiled at Nadia and whispered a promise before heading back outside. “I’ll see you later.”

Nadia stood in the doorway for a long time after he was gone and stared into space.

* * *

Sofia stared into the teacup for a long time before lifting her head to look at Owen. “Do you want me to say what you want to hear, or do you want the truth?”

“I already know what I want to hear, so tell me the truth.”

“You’re a builder.” She lowered the cup back onto the table before them.

Owen tried to hide his disappointment. He had expected better from Sofia. Everybody knew he was an architect and owned a construction company. It had taken him half the afternoon to decide which method of fortune-telling he would prefer. He had shamelessly eavesdropped on every guest he could, trying to figure out which method seemed the best. The reactions were varied, and over half the guests had tried more than one method. In the end he had chosen Sofia by process of elimination. Yelena, Nadia’s nineteen-year-old sister, seemed too sweet and innocent to answer any questions he might propose. Volga Yonkovich, the very pregnant Soma’s mother-in-law, told fortunes with the tarot cards. He wanted nothing to do with any deck of cards that contained cards entitled “The Hanged Man” and “Death.” So that left Sofia, with her very predictable predictions.

“You’re a builder of dreams.”

Owen continued to frown. Of course he could be called a builder of dreams. Every house or building he built was somebody’s dream.

“You not believe me?” questioned Sofia.

Disillusioned, he said, “Yes, I believe you, Sofia.” Half a day’s worry was for nothing. Nadia wasn’t trying to protect him from the unknown future when she refused to talk about her family’s fortune-telling. She had been trying to hide the fact that her family couldn’t tell the future. He hadn’t really expected Sofia to look at the leaves and tell him all his dreams would come true, but a little more hedging on her part would have been nice.

Sofia leaned back and studied the young man who had become so important to her niece. “I’m not talking about houses or office buildings.”

“You’re not?” Owen glanced at the old bone-china cup sitting in front of him. “What are you talking about, then?”

“You.” She pushed aside the deep-purple velvet material that was covering the table and reached beneath it. She pulled out a tall glass of iced tea and took a sip. “You didn’t come here to find out about your business, did you?”

“I already know about my business.”

“It is very prosperous,” said Sofia. She smiled knowingly and nodded her head. “It will continue to grow over the years because you will have many fine children who will help you.”

Owen stared at the cup in astonishment. “You can tell all that by a few soggy tea leaves?”

“No. I use my gift of wisdom to know your business will prosper, and my gift of sight to know how much you love children. You are very kind to all the little ones at the ranch.”

He flushed slightly at being that obvious. “So what do the tea leaves tell you?”